His Majesty My King

Four wasted years

"You're late," she said, not looking up from her book.

"Sorry, got caught in traffic," Ferdinand replied, peeling off his rain-soaked jacket and hanging it by the door.

"Again?" Her voice was laced with a hint of annoyance, but Ferdinand had learned to ignore it. After all, he had bigger things on his mind.

He slumped onto the couch next to her, the cushions groaning under his weight. The TV flickered with the muted images of a cooking show, but he wasn't watching. Instead, he stared at the floor, the patterns of the carpet blurring together as his thoughts raced.

For four years, he had been with her, yet it felt like forever since he had truly felt alive. Every day was a mundane routine of work, dinner, and the occasional argument about his late nights at the office. The spark that once ignited their relationship had dwindled into a flicker, threatening to go out with the next gust of wind.

The apartment was a reflection of their stagnant love. The same framed photos on the wall, the same half-hearted attempts at home decor, the same stale air that seemed to follow them around. It was a prison of their own making, and Ferdinand couldn't help but feel like he was slowly suffocating.

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, her eyes still glued to the pages of her novel. It was a silent rejection that echoed through the room, louder than any words could have been. It was in that moment that he realized what he had to do. He had to break the cycle. He had to date himself again.

Ferdinand took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew it would be a long and painful journey, but he also knew that it was the only way he could find happiness again. And so, he made a silent promise to himself, one that only he knew about.

For the next four years, he would date himself, rediscovering the things he loved, the passions that had been buried under layers of routine and obligation. He would treat himself to nice dinners, take himself on spontaneous adventures, and learn to laugh again, all while maintaining the façade of their relationship.

It was a strange and solitary path he had chosen, but as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find the love he had lost.

The first few days were awkward. He wasn't quite sure how to go about dating himself. He started with the basics: a trip to his favorite bookstore, a solo movie night, and a long walk in the park. He felt silly at times, talking to himself, making plans for one. But with each step, he grew more comfortable in his own skin.

As the weeks turned into months, Ferdinand noticed changes within himself. He began to smile more, to laugh more freely, and even to look forward to the time he spent alone. He started taking up hobbies he had abandoned in the throes of their relationship, like painting and rock climbing. He cooked elaborate meals for himself and savored every bite. He listened to music that made his heart race and danced in his living room without a care in the world.

The girlfriend, still oblivious to his inner transformation, began to pick up on the changes in his demeanor. She commented on how much happier he seemed, how much more alive. It was a bittersweet irony that made Ferdinand's heart ache, because he knew that the more he fell in love with himself, the further he was drifting from her.

One evening, after a particularly exhilarating day of solo exploration, Ferdinand sat at their usual dinner table, a feast of his favorite dishes laid out before him. He looked at the empty chair across from him and felt a pang of sadness. It was in that moment that he realized that his heart was no longer in their relationship. The love he had been searching for had been there all along, but it wasn't the love of another person—it was the love of himself.

He knew he had to tell her, but the words caught in his throat. How do you explain to someone that you need to break up with them so you can be with yourself? He took a deep breath and braced for the storm that was sure to come.

"We need to talk," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. She looked up from her plate, her eyes filled with concern.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, setting her fork down.

Ferdinand swallowed hard. "No," he said, "but it will be."

He took a deep breath and began to explain his journey of self-discovery over the past four years. He talked about the silent promise he had made to himself, the joy he had found in his solo adventures, and the painful realization that their relationship had become a mere shell of what it once was. He spoke of his love for her, but also of his love for himself and the importance of nurturing that love.

Her eyes grew wide with shock, then filled with a mix of confusion and sadness. She remained silent as he spoke, only nodding occasionally to show she was listening. When he was done, she took a moment to process his words. The air in the room was thick with unspoken emotions.

"I understand," she said finally, her voice trembling. "I've felt it too. We've both changed, and maybe we've just... grown apart."

Ferdinand nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He knew it was the right thing to say, even if it didn't ease the pain. They sat in silence for a while, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound. The tension was palpable, but there was also a sense of relief, as if they had both been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Days turned into weeks, and the apartment grew quieter without her. Ferdinand missed the comfort of her presence, but he also cherished the newfound freedom. He continued to date himself, throwing himself into his hobbies and passions with a renewed fervor. He painted until his fingertips were stained with acrylic, climbed mountains until his muscles ached, and danced in the rain without a care for who might be watching.

One day, while perusing an art gallery, he saw her. She was with someone else, someone who looked at her the way Ferdinand used to, someone who made her laugh the way he hadn't in years. The sight of her, happy and vibrant, brought him peace. He knew then that he had made the right decision.

With each step he took away from her, he felt lighter, more alive. He had learned the hard way that love wasn't about filling voids in someone else's life, but about filling your own. And as he walked out into the world, ready to face whatever came next, he knew that he was finally ready to truly live again.

The months that followed were a whirlwind of growth and self-discovery. Ferdinand threw himself into his hobbies, meeting new people who shared his passions and challenged him to become better. He found comfort in the camaraderie of his rock climbing group, the quiet companionship of his favorite barista, and the thrill of spontaneous weekend trips to places he'd always wanted to visit. He started a blog, sharing his experiences and insights with the world, and to his surprise, it began to gain a following. People wrote to him, sharing their own stories of heartbreak and self-love, and he felt a kinship with them that he hadn't felt in a long time.

One rainy afternoon, as he sat in a cozy café, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate, he stumbled upon an article about a local art exhibition. Intrigued, he decided to check it out. As he wandered through the maze of paintings and sculptures, one piece caught his eye: a vibrant, abstract representation of a heart breaking free from its cage. It was as if the artist had plucked the very essence of his own journey and put it on canvas.

Moved by the artwork, he approached the artist, a woman named Isabella, and struck up a conversation. They talked for hours about their shared love for art and the healing power of creativity. Her smile was infectious, her eyes full of life, and Ferdinand found himself drawn to her in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the evening drew to a close, he gathered the courage to ask her out. She looked at him, her gaze thoughtful for a moment, before saying yes. It was the first time in four years that Ferdinand had felt truly nervous about a date, but it was also the first time he had felt truly alive.

The date was everything he could have hoped for and more. They laughed, shared stories, and found common ground in their love for the unconventional. Isabella was unlike anyone he had ever met, and as they sat under the glow of a street lamp, the rain gently kissing their cheeks, Ferdinand knew that this was the start of something beautiful.

The story of his heartbreak had led him to this moment, and as he walked her home, his hand in hers, he felt like he had finally come full circle. He had dated himself for four years, learned to love and cherish who he was, and now he was ready to love someone else again. But this time, it was on his terms, with a heart that was whole and a spirit that was free.